


Debts Repaid

by RunTheJewels



Series: Bane of Legends [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy couple wasn't always so happy, M/M, Takes place 10 years before the Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunTheJewels/pseuds/RunTheJewels
Summary: Can he be blamed for assuming the worst?
Relationships: Makoa Gibraltar/Original Male Character
Series: Bane of Legends [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535969
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Debts Repaid

**Author's Note:**

> Marek is Black because I'm self-inserting

Voicemail. Again. Makoa cut the line and redialed, only to be met with the same ringing and then the same cut.

Makoa started down the stairs and towards his rise, using his free hand to block the glare of the late afternoon sun. His other hand tightened around the phone, shoved roughly into his pocket and as he quickened his steps, a quiet growl tore its way out of Makoa’s throat. It was one born of frustration and worry. He’ll admit, things have been tense with his boyfriend and their arguments have gotten heated, as of late. But Marek’s never resorted to outright ignoring him before.

SARAS HQ was closing for the night. His training was done for the day so he might as well head over to Marek’s place. Get answers for himself. But even as he made up his mind, Makoa couldn’t help but dwell on what it could possibly be, if he is really ignoring him. They just recently had a fight; one of their uglier ones. One that ended with Makoa outright leaving Marek’s place for his parents’ with burning anger and then a profound sense of shame twisting his stomach. Not just because of the aftermath, not even because of how it was conducted but the sheer stupidity of the topic. Makoa’s parents extended an invitation. All they knew about what he was up to was through their son. Makoa expressed the desire, tried his best to convey how much it would mean to him if he made more of an effort and once again, Marek brushed him off. He was busy. He was always busy. He rarely even left the apartment anymore or even did things together anymore. School keeps him occupied, as it would, but this felt like something else entirely.

Marek’s met his folks before. Multiple times, in fact. As children, after he got in trouble for throwing his toys at Makoa’s head to their last years of public school, when he had to drag the sweating, nerve-wracked teenager to his home, so his parents could finally meet the young man their son wouldn’t shut up about.

Makoa would probably drag him there again, if he could. Give him the break he so obviously needed. But back then, his only advantage was that his growth spurt had hit first. Now Marek was a strong and stocky as he was and to make it worse, he was taller. He wasn’t a man to be moved if he didn’t wish to be. It was endearing. Infuriating but endearing.

Marek was there after the accident. In the hospital, with Makoa and his mother, while they worked to stabilize his father. That alone made this whole... _spat_ they were having all the more inane. They’ve been through so much together. Something as insignificant as this shouldn’t be what drives them apart.

Makoa was there and parking before he realized it. Not that it compelled him to actually get out of the car and make his way up. He just sat there instead, letting the engine run and dreading what could go down once he actually did make his way. Given how he had just spent the entire trip working himself up, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to keep things calm. And Marek? Hell, Marek could out-stubborn a mule.

Take a deep breath, count to seven, do it when you reach five. Makoa shoved open the vehicle door and stepped out, autumn wind blowing through his hair and cooling his skin. Eyes turning upwards, he found himself staring at the sky, colored all kinds of red and yellow, purple and orange. He and Marek used to sneak up to the roof of his parents’ house just to watch the sunset after a long day. Even brought up some of his father’s beers on occasion. Then they grew up. Marek got “busy”. Staring at it now just reminded Makoa of brighter days, now long past. It made him dread the path they were heading down.

Makoa left the parking lot, reaching the base of the stairs and taking them slowly, one by one. Once on the floor, he took the path to the end of the hall even slower. Eventually, the path ended and he found himself standing before the door, filled with uncharacteristic anxiety. Makoa sighed and unlocked the door, slipping inside and letting it close behind him.

The living room was empty but various lights were on all over the apartment. Most activity came from the bedroom, where Marek did most of his work. “Marek?” Makoa called. No response. He raised his voice, “Ay, Marek!”

A loud bang erupted from the bedroom. Forgetting his worries, Makoa dropped his bag at the front door and rushed over, finding Marek pitched over in his chair, practically folded over himself with some textbook flattened over his face. He looked ridiculous. Makoa would have laughed if he was in a mood to.

Instead, he sighed again, walked over and helped his boyfriend up. “Thanks,” Marek muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, he looked at Makoa more closely. “You usually call before coming over.”

Makoa said nothing, his face turned down towards the desk. Reaching over, he took hold of Marek’s phone and woke it up. As expected, there was Makoa’s name, indicating a missed call. He turned the thing around and held it up to Marek’s face. Took out whatever wind Marek had in his sails. “Ah,” he said in response, “I...apologize. I’ve-”

“You’ve been busy,” Makoa finishes, hoping he sounded more tired than bitter. He takes another look at Marek’s desk, filled with crumpled sheets of paper and a few metal parts. “With what, exactly?”

Marek followed his eyes and moves back towards his desk, picking up papers. “Schoolwork.” He smiled sheepishly. “You know how it is.” He shoves the stack of things into a nearby bag, along with the metal parts and a few datapads. When he finished, Makoa handed his phone back. It chirped as soon as he did. A message, one that immediately has him smiling even wider, one that brightened the entirety of his face. Smiles were rare, wide genuine ones even more so. Makoa had always taken pride in the fact that he was one of the very few who could pull one out of him. But now, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been graced with it.

Marek’s eyes flicked up at Makoa and the smile suddenly dropped, as if he was just remembering that Makoa was right there. “Thomas,” he explained, “You know Thomas, right? From school. Meeting him for something.”

He was sidling past Makoa while speaking. “There’s food in the fridge if you’re staying,” he called, growing louder as he got closer to the door. “I’ll be out late. See you tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and locked without another word. Makoa could only bring himself to stand there and let him go.

* * *

Sleep hadn’t come easy and only left him even more agitated. Makoa roughly turned over and stretched out his arm, unexpectedly finding heat. One open eye was greeted with Marek’s large form stretched out over the bed. They were far apart. Despite their sizes and the relative smallness of the bed, there was still a distance between them; how annoyingly poetic.

Makoa slipped out of it and prepared for the day, quietly, out of politeness and he had to admit, affection beneath his anger. He was going to see his parents, help out with work around the house. Marek was to go with him but…

Makoa had just sat down with breakfast when Marek came into the dining area, fully dressed and bag hanging off his shoulders. “Mornin’, brudda.” He planted a kiss on Makoa’s head. Despite it all, Makoa managed a thin smile. The man jogged into the kitchen behind them.

“Running somewhere?” Makoa asked into a mug of coffee.

“Yep. Thomas,” he answered with no further explanation.

Makoa nods to the plate beside him. “Sit down and eat.”

“In bit of a hurry.”

“Thomas isn’t going anywhere.”

Behind him, he heard Marek pause. He doesn’t know if it was Makoa’s tone or the tension in his shoulders but he came back around and did as told.

Acquiescence didn’t improve his mood. The tension in the air was palpable. “Where are you off to?”

“Meeting Thomas.”

“What was yesterday?”

“Schoolwork,” he answered, matching him in bluntness. “Today’s also schoolwork. I don’t really get a break from this, Makoa.”

The argument ends before it can begin. Marek rushes through his plate, getting only halfway before he’s on his feet again, bag in hand. Makoa decides against pressing the issue. Instead he asks, “When will you be back?”

“I’ll call you.” Marek doesn’t even look back as he answers. Makoa turns to watch him leave. He had his phone in hand. He was smiling again.

* * *

“ _How’s Pop?”_

_“Still in pain, dear. It’s better now but he should still take it easy. Thanks again for taking the time out to help.”_

_“I’m sorry there’s not two of us.”_

_“I’m sure he has good reasons…”_

_“Yeah, well. I’ll have it all done by sundown.”_

Makoa moved the two pieces of split wood to the pile and picked up the next block. He straightened up with a quiet groan, his lower back stinging and the axe nearly slipping from his grasp. He was exhausted. He was exhausted and now even angrier than before. His dad was in pain from his old injury. Marek should be here, helping. It’s the least he could do since he-

“Shut the hell up, Makoa,” he snarled at himself. Don’t say that. Don’t _ever_ say that. Don’t even think it.

“Makoa.” His mother’s voice makes him pause. She was standing at the door, some distance away, but she’s never had trouble making herself heard. She moves down the steps and approaches, wrapping a shawl tighter around her shoulders as a cool gust of wind blew past. “What is wrong?”

“It’s nothing important, Ma.” Makoa brings the axe over his head and strikes down.

“Clearly.” She eyes his pile. “We have enough wood.” Her eyes return to him. “Come inside and take a break. You can finish the rest another time.”

“I promised I’d have it finished today.”

“You promised you _and_ Marek would have it done,” she reminded him. “I don’t expect you to do this all on your own.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be here!” The words were flying past his lips before he could stop them. Makoa tossed the axe down. “He couldn’t take the time. Just one day to help me.”

“School leaves people very busy, dear. You know that.”

“But I still always made time for him.” His voice very quickly lost its fire, leaving it quiet and meek. “He was always a priority to me, Ma. Why am I not one to him?”

A tiny hand ran up and down his slouched back. “It’s not like that, Makoa. I know you’re hurting but I’m sure it’s not.”

A long sigh left his nose. He started to organize the wood. “There’s something else. _Someone_ else.”

The hand stopped. He knew exactly what it must’ve sounded like to her. “A classmate named Thomas.”

“Do you know for sure, Makoa?”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “I just know he’s been spending more time with this other guy than with me.” However much it hurt thinking it, saying it aloud pained him something fierce. He wouldn’t, would he? Not after so long.

“No.” His mother was shaking her head. “I don’t believe that.” She put her hand on his sweaty arm to get his attention. “Talk to him, Makoa. Clear this up. Talk to him tonight and then come talk to me in the morning.”

“Alright.”

“Promise me.”

Makoa blew a stream of air through his lips. “I promise, Ma.”

* * *

He was already regretting his promise. How would Marek even take this? The conversation alone could end them, never mind possible unfaithfulness.

Makoa was back where he was just a day ago; sitting in his car, watching the sun slip under the horizon. He only moved when it did but his mind had been running since long before; how he would broach the subject in a way that wouldn’t devolve into a shouting match.

His legs carried him to Marek’s front door, only slightly of his own volition. He could see light from the window while coming up and hear the dim sound of movement inside. Makoa again counted to seven, made it to twenty-one and then raised his hand.

“I’m not sure I can meet tonight.”

Makoa’s hand stopped.

“I don’t know,” he heard Marek say, clearly into a phone. “Makoa wouldn’t take it well.” A sigh. “I keep feeling like this was a bad idea, Tom. That I’ve taken things too far.”

A pause, then a harsher sigh came out, clearly annoyed. “I know it’s too late. I know I need to talk to him about what we’re doing. I will. I will, just...not tonight.” Another pause. Then he said, “Alright, I’ll see you soon. Let me just put something together for him first.”

Makoa’s hand, still raised, was trembling. The blood rushing to his face, behind his ears, was deafening and he struggled to keep his breathing even and quiet, failing with every passing second.

He wanted to hit something. Take his fist and smash it against the door over and over until the door or his hand was left in ragged pieces, whichever came first. But as quickly as the fire within him burst to life, hot and painful, it snuffed out and left just pain.

Makoa’s hand fell limply to his side. He took one shaky step back, then another and then twisted on his heel, shoving his hands into his pockets and stomping away.

* * *

A horrible night, through and through. What Makoa wouldn’t give to turn off the sun, so bright and warm and _happy_.

No sleep came to him last night in the SARAS bunks and now he felt worse than he did the night before. Given how many people were giving him such a wide berth everywhere he went, he was sure he looked it. But Makoa had no energy for putting on a face today. His own mind, ever cruel, kept waking him up, reminding him that something was missing. An arm around his waist, a solid warm presence pressed against his back, loud snoring to lull him to sleep. An instant after, everything he had heard would playback in his head with perfect clarity, reminding him why Marek wasn’t here. Why he would never be here ever again. Marek was right about one thing, at least. They needed to talk. But he promised his Ma first, so that’s where he was headed. And she had so much faith in him. So did Makoa.

One missed call from Marek in the early morning. He knows because he watched it ring and struggled not to launch the stupid thing at the nearest wall. Did he even return home that night or was he finally dropping the act; the one where he preferred Makoa in his bed to anyone else. The one where he pretended to give any sort of damn about Makoa whatsoever.

He pulled in, shut off the engine and started up to his parents’ place, just wanting to get to his room and put a locked door between him and the world as quickly as possible. He opened the door and found his mother in the kitchen, arms deep in soapy water. She jumped slightly at Makoa’s rough handling of the door and her brow creased with worry once she had gotten a good look at him. “Makoa?”

When he spoke, the first time since the day before, it was a croak. “Hey, ma. Can we-”

She sharply cut him off. “Where were you last night, Makoa?” She demanded, “Marek came over early this morning, expecting you here.”

Makoa’s teeth bared slightly at the mention of Marek, part pained grimace and enraged snarl. Anger faded from his ma’s features. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

His hands, still in his jacket pockets opened and closed. “Can we talk later, Ma? Please? I...I really need to be alone-” Voices in the back, most likely the garage, caught his attention. His father and…

“Marek’s still here?”

She turned in the direction he was staring. “Yes, he-”

Makoa was already walking, stepping around her and marching his way towards his parents’ garage. His hands were at his sides, out of his pockets, and balled into tight fists. He roughly shouldered the old door open, tidal waves of rage and pain crashing forth from the inside to his lips…

And drying up before they could pass them.

His dad sat on a chair in the middle of the garage, head lowered, only lifting to see who had been barging in so loudly. Beside him was Marek, one arm stretched towards a laptop and another on…

Confusion overwhelmed the anger. “What is this?” he asked, his voice still so soft. Marek, silent and blinking, moved back slightly and brought it up to give Makoa a better view. In his hand was an arm; a sleek metal prosthetic that glimmered in the sunlight and, as Makoa slowly realized, was connected to his father.

Marek returned his attention to the computer helping him calibrate the machine. “You didn’t tell me you were staying at SARAS,” he said. His tone was low and clear; a top ready to blow.

Makoa’s eyes stayed on the prosthetic. “How did you know that?”

“I called several of your coworkers, Makoa,” he said, his voice rising only slightly, “All of them saw you return to HQ last night.”

“I…” He stopped, refusing to be put on the defensive, “You didn’t answer me, Marek. What is this?”

“An arm.”

“Why do you have it?”

“I made it.”

“What do you mean you-”

“Would you two like to take this somewhere else?” His father asked, ending early what would have been a loud argument. Makoa’s mouth clamped shut and Marek’s eyes turned away. Neither had been aware of how loud they had been getting.

So Makoa watched them in silence. Watched as Marek went through an assortment of tools, adjusting and readjusting certain fixtures in the artificial arm, instructing his father on where to move the limb and how to get it there and slowly, very slowly, Makoa felt the last of his rage drain away.

“You made this?”

Marek glanced at him for only a second. “I did.”

“When?”

“Stand up and walk around a bit,” he told Makoa’s father, “Make sure the weight’s good.” Marek rose to his full height and helped his father stand. “A year now. Finished late last night.”

When his father stepped away, Makoa trudged closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispered.

“You would’ve told him and then you’d both try to stop me,” he said, turning back towards his computer. “I told your mom early on. Said if it was already made, he’d be less likely to reject it.”

Makoa’s dad piped up from the other side of the garage. “I still think this is unnecessary.”

“Well, unless you plan on letting all my hard work go to waste,” Marek said, “It doesn’t really matter. You promised me at least two weeks.” He quickly begins to pack his things. “If there’s any pain or trouble, call me, sir. But I promise you’ll like it.”

Mr.Gibraltar sighed, full of defeat and resignation but as soon as Marek’s back was turned again, Makoa saw him lift the arm into the air. Twirl his wrist, open and close his hand and smile, just barely.

Makoa’s attention returned to Marek just in time to see the man step past him towards the exit. His ma was elsewhere, giving them the living room but Makoa waited until they were both past the front door to grab his arm and stop him. “You didn’t need to do this, Marek.”

The arm was pulled from his grip. “So people keep telling me,” he murmured. “I owed a debt to your father and now its paid back.”

“A debt?” Makoa immediately knew he was referring to the accident. This whole time. That’s what this had been about this whole time. “Marek, there was no debt. My father was glad to do it! He said so himself.”

The other man practically spat. “I’m sure he did. Glad to have his son in exchange for an arm,” he told him, “But what am I, Makoa? The idiot kid who nearly got his son killed. Who nearly got him killed. _Who cost him an arm_.” He ran his free hand over his mouth. It was trembling. “I...I just couldn’t have that on my conscience. Not anymore.”

Silence fell and silence stretched. Quiet sounds of the day moving along passed by, even as the two remained in their own little world. Marek lets out a shaky breath and then asked, in the softest voice, “What happened last night?”

“I…” Trying to explain it now felt stupid but this needed to be out in the open. “I’ve felt us growing apart as of late. We’ve done little else but argue. We rarely spend time together. Are rarely... _together_ ,” he explained. “Then you kept talking about Thomas, spending time with him-”

“He’s been helping me finish this. Dr.Paquette recommended him.”

“I...realize that now. But before, I thought...that you two were…”

Marek blinked. Then his eyes widened slightly and his shoulders fell. His teeth bared in a grimace, muffling a stream of curses.

“I overheard the phone call. It…it really sounded like-”

“Hey, hey!” Marek put down his case of tools and took Makoa’s face in both of his hands. “ _Nothing_ like that is happening. I would never...”

Makoa was so lost in the feelings of relief simple touch brought upon, a single tear managed to make its way past his closed lids. “I know. I know. I get that now.” He let out a ragged sigh and opened his eyes, smiling with relief. “I’m sorry for thinking otherwise.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. For making you think otherwise. I knew this was straining us but I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.” Marek’s hands dropped and Makoa’s immediately came up to take hold of them. “I just wanted to finish this. Get things back to normal.”

Marek pulled his hands back again but only so he could wrap his arms around Makoa’s waist and bring him in. “Forgive me.”

He murmured it so quietly, Makoa felt it against his lips more than he heard it. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Marek only squeezed harder. “Forgive me.”

“Marek-” Makoa yelped as the ground suddenly fell away from his feet. Marek had hefted him completely off the ground and was now holding him in the air. He didn’t speak but his eyes asked the same question; begged the same. “Alright, alright. Take me out to eat and I’ll consider it.”

Marek’s lips began to curl. As soon as he let Makoa touch the ground again, he was pulling him in.

Knuckles banging against a windowpane had them jumping apart. Marek’s eyes swiveled towards the sound and his dark skin quickly turned even darker. “Um…your…your mom.”

Makoa turned. She waved when he did, beaming all the while. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

“Car. Right. Car.” He twisted on his heels and practically ran away. Makoa watched him go then made his way back into the house. His mom had left the window and returned to the kitchen. “Stepping out for a bit, Ma.”

“Everything settled?” She asked as he moved past.

His lips curled into a smile. “Everything’s settled. We’re good.” He went up to the door leading to the garage, still slightly cracked open. Without announcing himself, he peered through.

His father was still walking around. But now, he was lifting things, opening jars and boxes, things he hadn’t been able to get to in years without his wife’s or son’s help. On the bench lay his original prosthetic, old and useless compared to the new one and easily forgotten.

All the while, his old man was smiling; straight beaming, teeth and all, like a child at Christmas who received a better gift than he had dared to even ask for. A stark contrast from before, having to be convinced to take it.

His mother sidled up next to him. Makoa knocked against the doorframe, grinning at the way his dad jumped at the realization of an audience. “New arm working?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “It’s working. Working well.”

“Good to hear. Stepping out for a bit.”

His father nodded and his eyes moved down to his wife. Smiling again, he extended the metal arm. Makoa moved to let her pass, watching her take his hand and be pulled in. She murmured about the arm’s warmth, as if she had expected cold metal. Marek had paid every detail attention.

Makoa decided to leave them to their moment. “Heading out, you guys.”

His father waved with the other hand not wrapped around his wife. “Alright, bring back something nice.”

“Like?”

The older man shrugged. “Food? Gifts?” His lips curled upwards. “Grandchildren?” His wife smacked him in the chest. He only laughed and pulled her in tighter, laughing harder at Makoa’s hurried exit before returning his attention to his wife, wrapping both arms around her waist and twirling her through the air.

* * *

“He like it?”

“He loves it, Marek.” Makoa closed the door. His face softened. “Thank you. You didn’t need to. But thank you.”

For the first time in days, Marek gave him a smile. Wide, genuine, even a bit wet-eyed. He started up the engine and before he could pull out, Makoa put a hand to his chin, turned him and kissed him, deepening it as the smile became wider and smiling himself when a single tear fell against his lips. Makoa just pulled away, wiped his thumb across the man’s cheek and kissed him again.


End file.
